5
Gym spaces
James Brighton, Ian Wellard
and Amy Clark
It’s 5.30pm on a bitterly cold early February evening. Lethargic from
the day’s sedentary academic work, I pull into the car park, grab my
oversized gym bag from my boot and throw it over my shoulder. I make
my way through the drizzle and darkness, passing various industrial
units until, like a beacon, I see light shining through the glass fronted
gym door. Clang – clang – clan-clan-clang. As I get closer I can hear the
familiar sound of weighted Olympic bars being dropped and
reverberating off the floor in unison and the high-energy beats of the
latest dance track escaping into the grainy night sky. The 5 pm CrossFit
class must be in full swing, I think to myself. Heart speeds, skin tingles,
muscles crackle and electricity pulsates through my body. I experience a
visceral re-awakening. “JB!” Entering the gym I am enthusiastically
greeted from behind the desk by three twenty-something muscled
personal trainers with Men’s Fitness magazine good looks. There is a
particularly potent atmosphere tonight. The place is buzzing, dusted in
human effervescence. To my right, men in tight fitting vest tops and
loose fitting jogging bottoms are busily lifting dumbbells and barbells
whilst sat on benches. Beyond that, Olympic and power lifters clad in
tight lycra and oversized belts are throwing impossibly huge weights
above their heads atop of wooden platforms. Directly in front me, there
is a swarm of near naked sweat saturated CrossFitters jumping up onto
wooden boxes with breakneck speed before deadlifting heavy weighted
bars and dropping them again in unison. Against the back wall, the
whir of cardiovascular machines provides a low background hum.
Bodies are everywhere. Moving. Sweating. Groaning. Talking. Laughing.
Flirting. I breathe in the atmosphere, stash my bag, and step forward
and join them.
(James – reflections on the daily routine of ‘going to the gym’)
Waiting in line to pay at the front desk, a guy wearing a snapback cap,
muscles bulging out of his top and shorts, asks the receptionist when
the least busy time to attend is. “It used to be full of the hardcore guys
down here, now it’s just full of fucking tourists,” he bemoans. The
66 James Brighton et al.
receptionist agrees, and together they grumble about ‘outsiders’ and
mourn the golden days of yesteryear. Keeping my head down, I stare at
the floor. I keep quiet, not wanting to give my ‘tourist’ status away,
which inevitably will be as soon as I open my excited mouth exposing
my British accent. As I’m at Gold’s Gym in California, I’m wearing a
bright pink top and shorts. I never usually wear pink shorts back home
at my gym; they are too garish and stereotypically feminine, but they fit
in here and blend in with the other brightly coloured, tight fitting
clothing that adorns other gym users’ bodies. I pay $25 for a day pass,
which includes unlimited use of the gym and exercise classes, and sign
myself in.
In order to get to the spin room, I need to navigate myself across the
gym floor. It’s HUGE. Coming from a small home town gym, I am overwhelmed by the vastness of it. There are hundreds of fixed resistance
machines all designed to isolate differing body parts, encircled by
mirrors that give the illusion that the gym is the centre of its own
universe. Aware of eyes on me, I shyly make my way to the door that
leads to the next room. I notice how toned and tanned the bodies are
around me, thinking how skinny and pale I am in comparison. I had
been hoping that I might actually look like I was a frequent gym goer in
the eyes of the Gold’s Gym members, but on surveillance of my body I
realise I will not. Creeping into the next room I pop my head around the
corner. Holy shit! I cannot believe the size of this place. Shelves of
barbells and dumbbells are stacked against the walls and in the middle,
wave after wave of inflated buffed muscular bodies fill every available
space. I tiptoe my way through them and take the stairs up to the next
level. I am confronted by yet another huge room, this time with long
lines of static elliptical machines, torture devices to strain cardiovascular
systems. I pass alongside them to the Spinning studio. “I’ve made it,” I
think to myself, “I’m just about to work out in Gold’s Gym!”
(Amy – extract from experience of visiting
Gold’s Gym, Venice, California)
Introduction
The extracts above demonstrate how, as part of our daily embodied
routines, gyms affect our corporealness as we enter their distinctly different
spaces and undertake fitness practices within them. Importantly, our
identities are intricately connected to the social and cultural contexts and
places in which these experiences occur (Taylor, 2010). As Sparkes (2010: 29)
suggests then, further attention should focus on the intimate and shifting
relationships between body, self and social context over time by “examining
where and when certain contexts are produced, who these are produced by,
and the implications this has for experiencing and expectations of individuals”. Whilst Chapter 3 outlined the historical evolvement of gyms and
Gym spaces 67
ideologies of contemporary fitness, within this chapter we therefore
acknowledge gym spaces and how spatial arrangements within them affects
behaviours, interactions, subjectivities, embodied experiences and identity
constructions, contributing to Edmonds (2019: 13) call to more critically
attend to the “spatial locations of everyday fitness”.
Although we recognise the relentless diversification of contemporary
gyms we focus our attention on: i) ‘spit and sawdust’ gyms, utilitarian often
industrial fitness spaces with basic facilities and; ii) modern lifestyle clubs
(MLCs), lavish and opulent health clubs, and their budget reincarnations,
‘globogyms’. In doing so, we distinguish how these spaces have served to
discipline knowledge of fitness and the body. After providing distinctions
of these fitness facilities, our analysis subsequently explores how the spaces
within gym spaces such as the ‘front desk’, the ‘gym floor’ and the ‘changing
rooms’ are socially and culturally constructed in ways that enable or
constrain individuals through the creation of formal and informal boundaries and distinctions which serve to privilege some bodies and separate,
order and exclude others (Lefebvre, 1991). Defined as ‘reverential spaces’
due to their “informal and formal rules and procedures according to a logic
that is only perceptible to members” (Spencer, 2012: 37), active participation in these sections of the gym is dependent on types of fitness practice
and knowledge, performances of physical, cultural and social ‘gym capital’,
and the embodiment of ability, gender, race and class.
Finally, in response to the arrangement of spaces within spit and sawdust
gyms, MLCs and globogyms, specific attention is given to CrossFit and the
‘boxes’ in which it is undertaken which in many ways resemble the original
Turnplatz described in Chapter 3. Acknowledging this recent return to
functional forms of fitness and what has been deemed the “biggest global
fitness movement in the 21st Century” (Dawson, 2017: 361) provides an
example of a challenge to normative gym spaces whilst concurrently ‘setting
the scene’ for a more thorough analysis of this phenomenon by James in
Chapter 8.
‘Spit and sawdust’ gyms
To the uninitiated, this gym might resemble a torture chamber or a
BDSM dungeon. Racks upon racks of hexagonal black dumbbells are
stacked against the far wall, starting at 5 kilograms escalating in weight
to a huge 50 kilograms. Olympic, powerlifting, straight and E- Z bars
(to isolate the biceps muscles) stand erect in holders. There are piles of
green 10 kg, yellow 15 kg, blue 20 kg and red 25 kg plates in the corner.
Other plates are left lying around on the chalk and dust covered floor
along with ancillary equipment like chains, ropes, belts, clips, boxes,
benches and various Machiavellian looking adaptations for the high
and low pulleys. Squat racks and lifting platforms are arranged side by
side. There are a few minimalist resistance machines, such as a leg
68 James Brighton et al.
press, that focus on harnessing powerful movement rather than isolating particular muscle groups. This whole gym is the reserve for
Olympic lifters, power lifters and strong(wo)men. Knowledge on how
to lift weight and use these contraptions must be learned before gaining
access into this space. I feel excited. This is my playground; the weights
are my toys. Yet to others it must be a somewhat intimidating set-up in
which one must find it difficult to know where to start.
As described by James above, a ‘spit and sawdust’ gym can be conceptualised
as a ‘hardcore gym’ which historically has been considered a space for
bodybuilders, powerlifters and Olympic weightlifters. These are raw,
functional, utilitarian gyms that do not endorse the luxuries of plush
facilities, changing rooms or décor, as described by Murray (1980) in his
description of an early spit and sawdust gym:
A descending staircase at the sidewalk entrance led to a huge, somewhat dirty, equipment-filled room. One small iron-grated window
gave a tiny view of the sidewalk above. There were holes in the floor,
of various sizes, because guys has dropped weights, and some of them
would gather water when it rained, due to leakage in the walls and
ceilings. Rats lived in the gym, and muscleniks, too, from time to
time.
(p. 47)
This depiction is not dissimilar to spit and sawdust gyms that exist today
which continue to take pride in their utilitarianism. Where the primal
focus is given to making the body bigger and stronger, there is no need for
facilities to possess aesthetic appeal, cleanliness or cultivate a sense of
comfort (Figure 5.1, Figure 5.2). Indeed, doing so is deemed antithetical to
achieving gains in strength, power and size – the crudeness of the
surroundings encourages hard work which becomes absorbed into the
body. This can be demonstrated by Frankie, a 23-year-old personal trainer
who recalls entering a gym reserved for hardcore resistance trainers for the
first time:
I was 17. I remember loud music, gangster music, loads of people lifting a
lot of weight, making a lot of noise. Not many girls in here, it was pretty
dark. We came here, I think it was the winter, paid cash on the door, a
big guy greeted us and then it was like you’re in the jungle with all the big
boys. It was really exciting at the time. We used to love it coming down
here; we never went back to [globogym chain] again; it took our training
to the next level. It was a typical gainers’ gym, associated with steroids,
who was strongest, who was biggest, and who was the baddest. Just lads
basically, all the people on the desk, the people training, were using
[steroids]. It was a free weights gym, and that’s all there was. There was a
Gym spaces 69
couple of cardio machines, two treadmills, and the rest was just weights,
benches and racks. There was a dumbbell area, some free weights
machines, and then a 20 × 20 metre ‘bear pit’ of concrete with tyres in,
[lifting] platforms and more weights. People just used to load stuff up.
No form, no regard for health. Just get right after it.
Figure 5.1 Entrance to a typical spit and sawdust gym.
70 James Brighton et al.
Figure 5.2 Interior of a typical spit and sawdust gym.
According to Frankie, gaining access to these hardcore gyms requires the
development of knowledge of lifting free weights and demonstration of a
commitment and dedication to “take their training to the next level”. Consequently, as Steve, an ex-strongman who has managed a spit and sawdust
gym for 20 years suggests, individuals often first undergo initiations within
commercial gyms, and only once this corporeal grounding has been established are they permitted to ‘graduate’ into their ranks:
I call them [commercial gyms] feeder gyms. It’s like getting into Oxford
University. You’ve got a kid that went to nursery and he shone a little bit.
Then he went to a good primary school, shone a little bit more, that
meant that he went to a better secondary school. Then, because of his
results at secondary school he got into a good college instead of a shit
college. Then, that good college gave him a good chance to go to a good
university. So, it happens across the board with any kind of development.
Most people go to the gym just to get a little bit of muscle, and they go to
a comfortable gym, which would be a like a commercial gym. Then a few
people from that aspire to want more, you know, they’ve read a basic
guide to physics or basic guide to fucking bodybuilding, then they’re like,
“I want to get an advanced guide to bodybuilding, I want to get Jedi level
Gym spaces 71
bodybuilding”. You can work out in commercial gym, but you get all
sorts of trainers in there. But you have to generate your own energy and
motivation. Whereas you come to a hardcore gym, you’re surrounded by
fucking lions. You’re all working hard to achieve something. I use the
analogy of a gun factory with a gym. One factory might produce thousands of hand guns, whereas the other might produce a sniper gun which
requires precision engineering. People make choice on what gyms to go to
dependent on the precision of their needs.
In order to gain access to these fitness spaces, individuals must embrace the
ethos and training methods. Once established, membership within unique
gym habitus is maintained through exchanging corporeal knowledge on
technique, programming, nutrition and supplementation, all of which contribute in shaping and reshaping an individual’s fitness goals over time
(Sassatelli, 2010; Millington 2016; 2018). In many hardcore spit and
sawdust gyms, this extends to taking risks including lifting heavy weights,
adhering to extreme diets and engaging in ‘ethnopharmaceutical’ drug use
(Monaghan, 2001). Thus, embodied gym practices are informed not just by
the type of gym, but the people who are attracted to them, constitute them
and own them, as Frankie continues:
One thing that’s massively noticeable is the characters that were in
there … The guy that worked the desk was massively into weightlifting,
he was also pretty loud, pretty strong, knew everyone, talked to everyone
about weightlifting, ran a weightlifters’ course in here, so everyone was
pressured towards weightlifting … So yes, 100% coming to this gym has
influenced what I do. For me, when I came here I started weightlifting,
because back then that was what it was, everyone was weightlifting. I
made friends with weightlifters; it was cool to be strong. I’d say when I
was at my old gym and did my own thing, I was doing bodybuilding
training, trying to look good. Then came here, met the guys that were
older and I thought cool, lifting big weights, and I was like, “I want to do
that”. Definitely. I even went away from playing sport, stopped playing
rugby so I could weightlift … when you’re young and you come to the
gym, surrounded by a load of people lifting weights then you want to do
that. I used to come here and lift all the time, I even used to skip school
and come here in the day.
In spite of the enthusiasm of serious resistance trainers, however, the
changing social, cultural, commercial and political milieus of fitness and
health have threatened the existence of spit and sawdust gyms in their original form. For Steve, changing consumer trends, increasing population,
aggressive urban development and the relentless corporatisation of fitness
has led to the ‘gentrification’ of original spit and sawdust gyms and with it
the transmission of knowledge between gym owners and members:
72 James Brighton et al.
The problem is a lot of small private gyms are the ones that hold some
of the best and most knowledgeable people are being forced to close
down or being bought up by property developers. The gym only
functions with everybody going there, the general populace; you can’t
just wait for the one person to come from a [commercial] after using it
for five years to pay your bills, so the gym goes under. Commercial
gyms have took the good money out of the industry. Everybody is
going there, and the other gyms have been left for the few to go to once
they fancy a little bit more. So normally they’ve run out of business or
they’ve gone under and as a result we’ve lost the industry, we’ve lost the
people who’ve taught the next generation and the next generation, we
haven’t got that skillset no more. Also, property development has killed
bodybuilding. When I lived in Brixton there wasn’t any bodybuilding
gyms from Crystal Palace inwards, and I could never understand why,
but then I saw what was happening. As properties’ prices increased as
these towns and cities grew, you know, they developed. Prices of houses
went up through the roof, so people that had little gyms and little
warehouses, they was all knocked down and developed. So, the actual
space to have a gym, a low income, a low finance, low maintenance
space went. Property development spoilt it, killed off a lot of gyms.
Echoing the Gold’s Gym member described by Amy in opening this chapter,
Steve reminisces about the authenticity of fitness places and forms of
training he deems superior with a sense of nostalgia for bodybuilding’s
‘golden’ ‘middle era’ (Liokaftos, 2017), a period in which hardcore resistance
training gained more widespread social acceptance and the hyper-muscled
body impregnated mainstream culture. His comments are however intimately
tied to previous senses of body, self and ‘community’ which he perhaps
longs for. As Blackshaw (2011: 145) highlights, being nostalgic is full of ache
and melancholy for “what will always be, yet never quite was” with an
“unappeased yearning to return” causing perpetual anguish. Furthermore, in
taking backward-looking gazes at special times and places of being together,
we forget things we’d rather not remember. Being conscious of nostalgic
longing for previous places, times and bodies challenges the assertion that
there ever was a golden era of bodybuilding and perhaps restricts a
willingness to change with contemporary fitness trends and dynamics of
commercialisation.
For example, in response to the market demands elucidated by Steve,
many contemporary spit and sawdust gyms have evolved into ‘specialised’
fitness spaces and in some cases rebranded as strength and conditioning
facilities in order to meet the rising interest in developing amateur athletic
identities. Once the only forms of privatised gyms available, small, independent gyms now compete with commercial gyms through meeting the
needs of more advanced or serious resistance trainers such as elite and
amateur athletes and individuals wishing to recover from injury or improve
Gym spaces 73
postural alignment and mobility in addition their original clientele of
bodybuilders, powerlifters and strong(wo)men. Resultantly, small scale
specialised gyms have experienced a resurgence in some locations in recent
times. In spite of these trends, few educational pathways are available for
individuals to develop the corporeal knowledge to enter these gym spaces
directly, resulting in them remaining the reserve of the knowledgeable or
affluent few who are able to afford a personal trainer to provide tuition and
guidance (see Chapter 6).
Modern lifestyle clubs (MLCs)
As outlined in Chapter 3, the MLC arose in response to the commercialisation of health, leisure and lifestyle choice and an increasing pressure to
work towards corporate ideals of bodily perfectionism. ‘Going to the gym’
became an extension of social life for an urban, affluent population with an
increasing interest in health, active leisure, and development of a positive
work/life balance. Accordingly, MLCs evolved as sleek, sanitised, seductive,
exclusive places within which the currency of physical capital was worked
on and exchanged. In addition to the ‘gym floor’ these large, commercial,
corporatised gym spaces now house group fitness studios, ‘Spinning’ rooms,
neon-lit swimming pools, steam rooms, saunas, Jacuzzis, therapy rooms,
tennis courts, crèches, cafés, juice and supplement bars, tanning rooms, hairdressing and beauty therapy salons, physiotherapists and plush lounges to
relax and socialise in after a strenuous workout. Although these developments made gyms more inclusive to women (Smith Maguire, 2007; 2008;
Millington, 2016; 2018), MLCs, like other fitness facilities such as CrossFit
(see below), remain predominantly white, able-bodied, affluent, young,
corporate fitness spaces (Sparkes, 2010).
The organisation of memberships at MLCs reflects Western neoliberal
individualism. For a sign-up fee and a monthly direct debit, access is provided
to the gym as well as a multitude of other fitness and exercise activities and
classes including bodypump, bodyattack, bodybalance, bodycombat, and
bodystep (all by Les Mills), indoor cycling, step aerobics and zumba, to name
a few. Newcomers to the club are given inductions in which they are told how
to operate cardiovascular (CV) and fixed resistance machines safely and
encouraged to undergo sequential routinised programmes usually involving:
i) a warm-up to raise heart rate and some basic mobility; ii) a circuit of
6–8 exercises on fixed resistance machines (3 sets of 8–10 reps each);
iii) completion of CV exercise on elliptical machines; iv) a cool down and
stretching. Over time, these programmes become engrained as embodied
routine, often completed mindlessly and privately – yet within public space.
As Greif (2017) observes, social interactions in MLCs are structured around
these regimens; whilst members engage in the same rhythms and rituals
alongside one another, social etiquette determines that we do not interfere
with others:
74 James Brighton et al.
Our gym is better named a “health club,” except that it is no club for
equal meetings of members. It is the atomized space in which one does
formerly private things, before others’ eyes, with the lonely solitude of a
body acting as if it were still in private. One tries out these contortions
to undo and remake a private self; and if the watching others aren’t
entitled to approve, some imagined aggregate “other” does. Modern
gym exercise moves biology into the nonsocial company of strangers.
You are supposed to coexist but not look closely, wipe down the metal
of handlebars and the rubber of mats as if you had not left a trace. As in
the elevator, you are expected to face forward.
(pp. 5–6)
Within these ‘clubs’, ‘going to the gym’ remained a solo pastime, a private
boundary further demarked by users listening to music through headphones
or increasingly, plugging into high tech, individualised CV machines
inclusive of LCD screens showing the latest television and film as forms of
‘extertainment’ (Dale et al., 2009). In recent times the upmarket MLC has
diversified to include more affordable reincarnations that appeal to a broader
range of gym users – ‘globogyms’. These low cost gyms retain many of the
same organising principles of exclusive health clubs, but offer no frills
equipment, minimal staff and 24/7 opening times to cater for alternative blue
collar jobs with irregular shift patterns. These cheaper gyms are more
inclusive in terms of the broader range of people that are able to enter and
gain membership. This is reflected by the 2016 State of the UK Fitness
Industry Report, which highlights that low cost gyms have now become the
market leader in the UK and are growing aggressively, accounting for 12%
of the total number of private clubs and 32% of the private sector
membership.
Having outlined the historical emergence of spit and sawdust, MLCs and
globogyms on the contemporary gym scene, we now provide in-depth
embodied analysis through exploring the specific construction of spaces
within them, namely: i) front desks; ii) changing rooms and iii) gym floors.
In doing so, we highlight how gyms should not be seen as monolithic static
spaces, but comprise of clearly distinguished sections which are policed
through strict social relations, cultural codes and bodily performances that
serve to separate particular fitness practices and users, and profoundly
influence the embodied experiences of ‘going to the gym’.
The front desk
The front desk is the first point of contact with the ‘inside world’ of the
gym, a liminal space through which people sign in and pass through before
entering its exclusive sphere and becoming ‘part of the club’. Front desks
act as the ‘overseeing eye’ (Foucault, 1981) through which bodies and their
performances are placed under surveillance. Within spit and sawdust gyms,
Gym spaces 75
for example, front desks have historically doubled up as a meeting place and
a ‘boardroom’ amongst established members in which information on
training, diet and supplementation and ‘ethnopharmaceutical’ drug use is
shared and transmitted between members (Monaghan, 2001). These
meeting places are not open to everyone, but exclusive to predominantly
male members who have adequate levels of gym capital, a bank of corporeal
fitness knowledge and a willingness to take risks – all of which are evidenced through a developed physique. As Steve discusses, the ‘court’ held at
the front desk is hierarchical, with novice trainers or those not willing to
adhere to these strict cultural codes having no right to even get “fucking
close” to the desk until they have paid their dues and learned the rules of
engagement:
When I went to gyms you walked in, [you] didn’t say nothing, you just
went and trained. A year later you walked in and you might hang about
in reception a little bit and listen to what was being said and no one
stared at you too much. Two, three years you could stand at the counter
like that, you could probably stand there all day drinking your drink.
Then we started getting to that rare atmosphere of six or seven years,
you can start putting your two pence worth in, putting your opinions in
and getting a bit of banter going. And then for a very few lucky individuals after about 10 or 12 years you could actually stand round the
other side of the counter and be the one that was holding court. And
that’s how it worked basically, because you did your apprenticeship,
you shut up when the masters talked, then eventually you got cocky
enough to say something to the master and he either slapped you down
or he went, “Oh, that’s quite good, that boy shows a bit of promise,”
and you learn, you learn, you learn.
Feminist scholars have long addressed the dynamics of gendered spatial
segregation and how binary division legitimatises oppression and dependence
based on gender whilst also serving to regulate sexuality (e.g. Scott & Keates,
2004; Brown, 2006). The inferior binary positioning of women at the front
desk, evident in Andy’s comments above, is further elucidated in Amy’s
reflections below in which she recalls her experiences of working on the front
desk in a spit and sawdust gym:
Whenever I walk into the ‘front desk’, the first thing I notice is the skyscraper of shelving, towering from floor to ceiling full of various
supplements and proteins, all available to purchase. Glitzy and
colourful, their packaging is covered in large attractive letters …
MUSCLE MASS … MUSCLE GAINER … PURE WHEY, all aiding
in the ‘growth’ of the (male) body. “Alright Princess” musters the
muscle head behind the desk. He isn’t employed by the gym but seems
to spend all his time either training or becoming part of the furniture in
76 James Brighton et al.
this supposedly staff only area. Jostling past him, I remind him of that
he is not permitted in this area. Taking my seat behind the desk, I can
smell the damp stench of used gym clothes shoved under the counter.
The thumping of music penetrates through the makeshift MDF walls.
‘Smack My Bitch Up’ by the Prodigy, AGAIN. I suspect that the music
choice has been made by the hardcore trainers who have helped
themselves to the CDs behind the desk without asking for permission.
The front desk, which is really just a wooden work surface, also doubles
up as the ‘gym bar’. Stools are aligned on the opposite side to where I
sit, usually filled with the most serious of male gym goers, mixing,
blending and gulping down their shakes. Stacks of bodybuilding and
powerlifting magazines, usually with hyped and pumped-up bodies
adorning their covers, are strewn across the counter. This is a male
domain; large male muscular bodies dominate and challenge the very
space my body is occupying. Loud, boisterous, misogynistic and
heteronormative banter dominates the air waves. “Alright sweetheart,
feed me some protein,” one of them lewdly suggests. I feel uneasy and
threatened, but equally I am used to this and know how to snap back
when I need to in order to hold my own and assert my legitimacy in
this space. I hand him a shake and infer I will throw it over him if he
asks so rudely in the future. I imagine how intimidating their presence
must be for new gym members who enter the door, or members who
are not deemed as ‘hardcore’ as them and feel inferior under their
judging eye.
Similar to Amy who locates the front desk as an exclusive and male dominated area, Swan (1999) reflects on how the ‘welcome’ received at front
desks in an MLC is not welcoming at all. Rather, a corporeal order of
bodily acceptance exists based on gender, age, ability and class, maintained through instantaneous hierarchical surveillance. Deemed an ageing
male, Swan is not granted access to, or even acknowledged by staff at the
front desk in taking his membership card from him “without recognising,
or looking at me at all. Not even a pause in their conversation” (p. 38).
This reflection hints at how the evolvement of gyms have led to sanitisation and diminishing importance of front desks in larger commercial
gyms and health clubs. Instead, these spaces have become corporatised,
with owners who were often serious resistance trainers themselves being
replaced with ‘receptionists’ with limited fitness knowledge whose expertise focus on sales and operational maintenance. Interestingly, cheaper
24/7 globogyms do not have front desks at all, but operate though pin
entry systems, effectively negating many of the problems of negotiating
the front desk and the social barriers of access. Nevertheless, Steve claims
that the changing dynamics or eradication of front desks irrevocably
destroyed the ‘atmosphere’, sociality and knowledge transmission hub of
the gym:
Gym spaces 77
The world’s changed a lot, there is no real place in these [commercial
gyms] for standing at the counter listening to men talking about
training and diet and some of the dark side of things that they do with
chemicals and taking this and taking that, because it is wrong. You
know, if any kid ever walked in here and asked me for advice, I’m not
going to tell them. I’m only going to talk to people of my own age and
experience, and I only talk about my experiences. I don’t advise anyone
to do anything, but it would be considered inappropriate if I sat in
[commercial gym] talking like this now, it would be considered wrong,
wouldn’t it? It would be frowned upon. It’s sad. We’ve lost knowledge
and the kind of focal point for the gym.
With an emphasis on corporate objectives, Steve’s fear is that the essence of
the front desk has been lost, and with the forces of commercialisation, the
behaviours of gym users themselves have been controlled and regulated, for
example, in relation to IPED use. Whilst on the surface this may be deemed
positive as part of ‘cleaning up’ gyms, it is Steve’s opinion that this is
dangerous as gym members obtain drugs from the ‘underground’ and use
them without the insight of tried and tested corporeal knowledge in becoming
what Monaghan (2001) terms ‘ethnopharmacologists’. The suggestion here,
although contentious, is that historically, spit and sawdust gyms were better
placed to regulate safe drug use. A seemingly trivial gym space then, the front
desk holds significant meaning in enabling and constraining gym members,
constructing and transmitting particular forms of fitness knowledge, reinforcing heterosexual masculine order and privilege and marginalising others
through carnal surveillance.
Changing rooms
Changing rooms provide a functional place for gym members to take off and
put on clothing, wash and undertake bodily maintenance. They are however
not merely utilitarian spaces, but experienced alternatively in different gym
settings and are important liminal, public and private spaces in which
various body techniques and embodied forms of action, maintenance and
ritual are displayed, performed and disciplined through unique spatial,
social and cultural dynamics (Crossley, 1995; Swan, 1999). For example, the
layout, facilities and cleanliness of changing rooms spaces differ between spit
and sawdust gyms and MLCs as distinguished by Amy and James below:
I am struck by the darkness and stale musky odour as I walk into the
female changing rooms. There is no natural lighting or air flow and the
deep putrid smell from a blocked drain mixed with the ammonic
aroma of urine from the single toilet lingers, unable to escape. A couple
of small dirty mirrors are placed randomly on the walls, one full length
and the other head height, ready for the next selfie and Instagram
78 James Brighton et al.
update. There is a small row of metal lockers with blue doors, most of
which are dented and the locking mechanisms broken. Next to the
lockers is an old stained cream sink covered in hair, above which a
little travel hairdryer is attached to the wall. It’s cold. There’s a little
heater that is releasing a burning smell, but it offers little warmth. A
couple of blue plastic chairs are thrown in the corner. The toilet
cubicle is open and I notice that the lock in the toilet door has been
broken off. To many this might seem like a festering cesspit, but for me
this is part and package of how this gym makes you feel. It’s basic and
functional, yet I find it comforting, not too showy. I don’t worry about
how I should be looking or what I should be doing. I just change and
leave and get on with what I came here for.
(Amy – reflection from a ‘spit and sawdust’
gym changing room)
The changing room exudes luxuriousness, like something out of a country
club or a five star hotel. Bespoke made sturdy wooden seating arranges
space into privatised sections, each with their own large backlit mirror,
hairdryer and selection of premium body lotions. The sleek lockers are
made out of rich walnut wood, covered in a shiny veneer. Modern looking
vertical sunbeds are seamlessly built into the cavities. There is a separate
toilet and shower room, always fresh, clean and sweet smelling. Shower
cubicles are distinguished from each other through misted glass with the
corporate logo of the gym chain emblazed upon them. Branded shampoo
and conditioner dispensers are attached to the walls. Pristine shiny white
sinks are sunk into marble tops. A pile of fresh, fluffy lavender smelling
towels are rolled and stacked up in the corner for members to use to dry
themselves before depositing in a linen basket to be washed. The lighting is
bright yet soft. I feel warm and comfortable. I want to take my time in
here, enjoy the process, I think to myself. After changing and stowing my
belongings in the spacious lockers, I pause for a second to choose the
appropriate exit. One heads to the pool and spa area, whilst I need to take
the other that heads to the gym floor. I head out feeling more relaxed than
pumped up and ready for the strenuous workout I had planned.
(James – reflection from a modern lifestyle
club changing room)
Amy’s experience of a spit and sawdust changing room was fleeting, a
liminal space which she passed through quickly to get on with the purpose
of going to the gym – her workout. This offers stark contrast with the opulence of James’s experiences in an MLC which provided a sense of escape,
comfort and serenity, all of which contribute to the feelings of exclusivity
of being in a ‘health club’. Changing room spaces therefore constitute an
important part of the ‘whole package’ of the experience of going to the
gym, changing ones mood before even stepping foot on the gym floor.
Gym spaces 79
Basic or lavish, within changing rooms people remove their clothes and
transition into their amateur athletic roles, leaving behind their professional
and domestic ‘realities’ outside of the gym (Hockey, 2019). The change into
a purpose-made, gym-specific outfit from everyday clothing is a requirement
of training and acts as a crucial symbol of ‘tuning in’ to the gym (Ingold,
2014). Changing also has an affective call on the body. Putting on light, tight
fitting, sweat wicking gym attire awakens the body into being in the right
spirit to work out, preparing it for the serious work to ensue. (Sassatelli,
1999a; b). In this regard, changing rooms operate as a ‘segmentation mark’,
acting as spaces through which the external identities of its users are
stripped, turning bodies into experiencing objects that can be moulded by
personalised and serial training (Sassatelli, 1999a; b; 2010). In order to make
these transitions, undressing is required, exposing the body to others.
Within this private (the changing space is concealed and distinguished by
sex) and public (members change together) space, gym users are granted
intimate insight into others’ bodies and the rituals through which they
maintain them. As Probyn (2000) distinguishes:
… the locker room is one of the only legitimate spaces in which samesex naked bodies parade in intimate anonymity. Protected by a welter of
codes about how and where to look, nonetheless strangers dress and
undress, wash themselves, lathering breasts and bums in close proximity.
(p. 20)
Bereft of clothes, the messiness of real bodies, their markings, insecurities
and vulnerabilities are revealed to the other, laid bare to admiration or ridicule. Usually undertaken in more privatised settings within the home, bodily
rituals such as showering, urinating, excrementing, are exposed to scrutiny.
Through these practices, individuals display their cultural competence to
maintain various aspects of their bodies and identities (Sassatelli, 1999a; b),
for example, by cleaning, moisturising, scenting, adorning and styling the
body and its surfaces in acceptable ways. Revelations of the ‘body on
display’ (Goffman, 1959), and an increasing importance of the perfectible
body, invite gym users to undertake surveillance of their own and others’
gendered, sexed, raced, classed and disabled bodies.
Ian has previously commented on the complexities of body presentation
in regulating gendered and sexed behaviours in the changing rooms of MLCs
(Wellard, 2009). Although one of the few social spaces deemed acceptable
for same sexes to be naked together, the experiences of one’s body and the
corporeal analyses of other naked bodies results in differing reflections and
social displays. Alternative to a traditional sports changing room which
occupies a seemingly mythological status, gym changing spaces present
various gendered dilemmas due to the differing purpose of the activity:
The main problem for the men using the changing room at the health
club, however, was that they had to undress and, to an extent, display
80 James Brighton et al.
their bodies for other men in a context which was not that of a sports
team together before or after a match. It was not a musty, team changing
room where a group of men could talk about the events of the match in
an environment of exclusive maleness and team camaraderie. At the
health club, the member, although attending under the auspices of
keeping fit, was also taking part in an individual experience aimed primarily at the narcissistic pursuit of bodily enhancement. Consequently,
there was something suspiciously ‘feminine’ about the health club that
had to be countered and this was made all the more threatening by the
need to expose the body to the gaze of other men.
(Wellard, 2009, p. 58)
Likewise, Swan (1999: 37) writes about the ‘wondrous’ worlds of male gym
changing rooms as claustrophobic masculine and masculinising spaces. For
him, gym changing rooms continue to evoke “the same feelings of sick
stomach, dry mouth and muscular weakness” (p. 39) experienced in sporting
changing rooms as he prepares his body for exercise. Observing the changing
room practices of boys and men, he identifies three ‘ages of changing’:
i) ‘Mervyns’ are older male bodies who unapologetically expose their nudity
and are seemingly unaware or simply don’t care about acceptable rituals and
codes of masculinising behaviour; ii) ‘Cocoons’ are young school age
pubescent bodies in liminal stages of manhood who are conscious of surveillance and physical judgement so cocoon their lower bodies in towels through
fear of judgement and reprisal; and iii) ‘Mirror seekers’ are generally aged
18–30 years of age and are pre-occupied with appearance of their bodies
belittling other expressions of masculinity. In desperate need of a ‘mirror fix’,
these changers revel in their own idealised forms of masculinity and project
their nudity onto others, as observed by James in the following reflection:
As I finish towelling my wet skin, three lads in their early twenties bustle
in through the door with little regards for others and peel off their sweaty
t-shirts exposing their ripped, tanned and perspiring bodies. They laugh
and joke about how much a “pussy” one was for not completing a heavy
rep, before quickly turning their attention to the crass analysis of a female
gym user’s bum. Such chat takes me back to my footballing days, in
which changing rooms were ‘performative stages’ (Goffman, 1968) in
demonstrating masculine bodily capability and heterosexuality. Whilst
still hyper-masculine, my experiences of gym changing rooms are different.
I was not in danger of being pissed on in the showers by one of my team
mates, having my appendage commented on or required to down a can of
beer. Nevertheless I felt exposed to scrutiny under the wandering judging
eye. At the time I use the gym (around 5–7 pm), the changing room is
usually full of ‘mirror seekers’, jostling for position to demonstrate who
is the biggest, buffest and most cut. “How was your workout?” asks one
of them. “Pretty good, but still struggling with injury,” I reply. “Doesn’t
Gym spaces 81
really matter, you can still get fucking massive,” he empathised whilst
dousing his skin in woody citrusy aftershave. “Too right!” I reply. “Can
always do some curls for the girls!” The acceptability of my heteronormative response was met with a fist bump and a confirmation: “Better
that than tri’s (triceps) for the guys!” As I turn around I notice a younger
gym member in the corner absorbing the hyper-sporno-hetero-sexual
parade being enacted in front of him.
(James – reflection from a gym changing room)
Shaped by experiences of sporting changing rooms, James was able to
respond appropriately to the cultural and embodied codes that were required
to perform particular heteronormative, hegemonic forms of masculinity.
Such performances granted acceptance and affirmation of (hetero)masculine
competence, yet they were dangerous in transmitting exclusionary heterosexual ‘rules of changing’ to other members in becoming socialised into gym
environments. Conversely, Ian has previously identified the ‘tabooness’ of
(homo)sexual bodily performances within gym changing rooms (Wellard,
2009). Male gym changers are required to develop appropriate understandings of (hetero)masculinity in public spaces, regulating their gendered
and sexed bodily performances and negotiating physical sensations (e.g. of
showering or being naked) within the specific context and social
surroundings of the changing room. As Ian further points out, although
forms of capital could be achieved through masculine bodily performance in
the gym (e.g. lifting heavy weights) and evidence of a developed physique
(e.g. large biceps muscles), nudity in the changing room still risks exposing
the body to embarrassment, by risking shame and the fear of presenting
‘unmasculine’ characteristics as evidence of homosexuality.
Adding further complexity to heteronormative dynamics of bodily presentation in changing rooms in contemporary digitised times, is that what
once remained within the localised private world of gym changing rooms is
now broadcast through hyperspace onto the screens of phones and tablets
to a global audience for comment through social media platforms as a form
of prosumption (Millington, 2016; 2018). The post workout, engorged,
sudoriferous body is in prime condition to capture and publicise to gain
praise and acceptance. As Mazzetti (2016) observes after completing a
‘swole’ session in which muscles become engorged:
After you have completed a swole session, what is the first thing you
do? Drink a protein shake? Wrong. You unholster your iPhone and
take a fucking selfie. Listen, if you do not post at least one selfie within
thirty minutes of achieving a nasty pump, you will immediately and
unmercifully lose all your gains.
(pp. 60–61)
Selfies proliferate in gym changing rooms as the body is fully pumped and
full-length mirrors and downlighting provide perfect conditions to capture
82 James Brighton et al.
the moment and receive corporeal adulation. Self-fashioned (re)presentations
of the gym body are subsequently subjected to modification through adding
filters. As Mazzetti (2016: 62) reminds us, the presentation of the ‘fit’ body
“is 98% lighting; the other 2% is the sun effect on Instagram”. Reminiscent
of the bodybuilder on stage in which surveillance is achieved through
lighting, tanning and the ability to represent the body favourably through a
series of poses (Richardson, 2012), post-gym selfies are also fleeting and
illusory. The picture of the body painted exists in hyperreal space in which
distinctions between ‘real’ and simulation have collapsed (Baudrillard, 1994).
This appears to matter little though as long as the illusion is supported with
hashtags inviting the broader fitness community to buy into the masquerade
and show their support and appreciation though ‘likes’ legitimising such
performances.
According to Hakim (2015), fitness related selfies have been termed
‘healthies’ and are aggressively accompanied with hashtags such as:
#fitness, #fitspo and #muscle. Many of these tags refer to sexualised images
of both men and women displaying their bodies in tight clothing or seminude in various states of undress. For him, the rise in popularity in both
the fashioning of muscular bodies and sharing images of them on social
networking sites amongst men can partly be attributed to continued
neoliberal austerity in which masculine privilege and gendered roles have
eroded, leaving men to use gyms to work on their bodies in order to imbue
them with physical forms of capital which are then communicated through
self-representations on social media platforms. Thus rather than the
working class, mainly black men with limited opportunities for employment who became professional boxers as the only means of production
that they truly owned, as was the case in Wacquant’s (2006) study, it is the
visual (re)presentation of the body made through selfies or ‘healthies’ that
predominates in the acquisition of bodily capital in contemporary
ocularcentric times. In doing so, the private worlds of gym changing rooms
are transgressed and insight given into important gym spaces in which
fitness identities are imagined and constructed.
Changing rooms are therefore important liminal, public/private spaces in
gym cultures. Far from just a functional place to change, preparing individuals for exercise and enabling transition back into everyday domestic
and professional roles, they inform embodied experiences as part of the
‘whole package’ of using the gym. Importantly, changing rooms act as panoptic and disciplinary spaces within which dominant constructions of
gender, sexuality, age, class and physical attractiveness are learned, presented
and performed. In doing so, idealised forms of physical perfectionism are
enabled and promoted through (re)presentations of the body on social
media made through changing room ‘healthies’ as a means to acquire social
and cultural capital. However, other marginalised forms of physicality and
bodily displays continue to be restricted and constrained in the face of
these norms within these mystical gym spaces.
Gym spaces 83
The gym floor
The gym floor can be defined as the main space in which gym practices take
place. Like front desks and changing rooms, the rules of membership,
knowledge shared on the body, and embodied fitness practices undertaken
upon them are uniquely dependent on the type, geographical location and
membership of the gym. The layout of the gym floor is important. Effective
spatial organisation is essential in fostering inclusivity and creating an atmosphere in which users are able to concentrate on working out and able to
forget about the normal duties and rules of their everyday social lives
(Sassatelli, 2010). As discussed below, however, the layout of the gym can
restrict participation through compartmentalisation and granting or denying
access to particular forms of gym user who are required to make choices on
what spaces of the gym floor to use.
Traditionally, MLCs and globogyms are segregated into cardiovascular,
free weight, fixed resistance, stretching and group exercise areas as demarked
by the type and positioning of equipment, flooring and decoration. Alternatively, spit and sawdust gyms are predominated by free weights with little
cardiovascular equipment. Spatial segregation is also delineated without
physical boundaries, distinguished through the senses as ‘reverential spaces’
through which strict socio-cultural dynamics operate, including gendered,
sexed, raced, classed and aged bodily performances and demonstration of
appropriate levels of fitness, knowledge and ability (Andrews, Sudwell &
Sparkes, 2005). This can be further elucidated by James’s visit to an MLC.
Stepping out of the private/public confines of the changing rooms required
entering the gym floor, joining a ‘social occasion’ (Goffman, 1963) and the
requirement of the negotiation of these complex spaces:
I always feel a pang of nerves as I step out into the gym. I’m not sure if this
is my body’s response for preparing for exercise, or if I am aware that the
eyes of others will be on me. This is especially the case in any new gym I
attend as I can feel the inquisitive gaze positioning me as the ‘newbie’, ripe
for additional scrutiny. My apprehension is further compounded as I will
not be able to navigate my way around the gym environment as effectively
as I would in my ‘home gym’ in which my bodily movements have been
engrained by embodied routine over time. In more comfortable surroundings my body ‘dis-appears’ (Leder, 1990), whereas here in these
unfamiliar settings and in front of strangers I become aware of my bodily
presence. I am reminded that bodily dys-appearance is not only experienced materially as an ‘intracorporeal phenomenon’ but through social
processes as part of an ‘intercorporeal phenomenon’ by sharing the same
spaces and fields of perception of other gym users (Merleau-Ponty, 1962).
The display and performance of my body will determine if I am accepted
or ostracised and afforded contribution to this social world.
(James – reflection from a visit to an MLC)
84 James Brighton et al.
In becoming subjected to division based on surveillance from others, on
entering the internal world of the gym members enter ‘panoptic’ (Foucault,
1975) institutions under which boundaries are policed and fitness behaviours disciplined. Within spaces in which working on the body is the
primary purpose, the panoptic reach is often extended from gym floors into
other delineated areas, for example by having windows that overlook spin
and dance studios and swimming pools maximising surveillance. Whilst
some gym members seek to hide from inspection, others seek it through
displaying their bodies by ‘peacocking’ their perfected bodies, attracting the
admiring gaze of the other. To return to James’s reflection above, under
surveillance he was conscious of the privileged body afforded to him as a
white, ‘straight’ experienced male gym user in his mid-thirties and how this
enabled access into the masculine circle of weight trainers in this MLC:
Within this high tech, civilised and civilising health club I am perfectly
aware of what is deemed acceptable and unacceptable within certain
spaces. However, I am here as I am working away from home and I still
really need to work on my clean and jerk technique for the forthcoming
CrossFit Open (described in detail later in this chapter). As I head to
one of multiple water fountains, I lift my head up and survey the space.
There is no designated platform on which to practise Olympic
weightlifting movements, so I head over to the bench press and remove
the bar, carve some room on the gym floor and load it with two 20 kg
plates. They are not ‘bumper’ plates though so I know I will not be able
to drop them or else they will break. I also recall how the last time I
attempted clean and jerks in an MLC I was told that what I was doing
was dangerous and that under no circumstances should I let the bar hit
the floor. Conscious that there is no platform to mark my territory and
that I cannot go too heavy and risk losing my balance, I pick the bar up.
It does not feel right in my hands or rotate freely. Nevertheless I do a
few hang power jerks to warm up.
As I complete a few reps I become aware that others are looking at
me, wondering what I am doing. This isn’t a lifting gym and the
movements I am running through differ from those being executed
around me. I do a few more reps, this time getting progressively deeper
in the hold position. I notice a few glances from some younger, more
muscular ‘body shapers’ to my left. They are big guys, but I make the
assumption that they are not competitive bodybuilders, but the big
men on this ‘gym campus’ as their upper bodies are disproportionately
developed in relation to their legs. They are following programmes
which are handwritten in notebooks, enacted out within the confines of
space and equipment available at the gym. As I head to the weights
rack, one of this group affirms to me that this is his space. Refusing to
move or acknowledge my presence, he stands still with his lats spread,
dominating his territory, making me detour around his huge frame.
Gym spaces 85
I should know better than to play this masculine game I think, but I
still can’t help myself. I need to prove my worth, and anyway it’s competition like this that makes me work harder and lift heavier. I might
not be able to lift as much as these guys anymore, but I can legitimise
my masculine physical prowess through the correct execution of
complex movement demonstrating my lifting knowledge. I add some
more weight to the bar and do a few heavier sets, this time purposely
projecting out a few grunts into the air, thereby providing a sonic
presence letting them know I am here and I am serious. After a few
more sets, one of the big guys approaches me. “What are they, mate?
They look fun. Can you teach me?”
(James – reflection from a workout in an MLC)
Typical of an MLC setting, spatial organisation was delineated through the
type and arrangement of equipment. Within these arrangements, gym
members became docile in their movements and programmes, which over
time became embodied. That is, gym users fashioned their bodies and fitness
through the space and equipment available in given gyms, their everyday
ritualistic engagement structuring embodied practices as they learned to
move across them via the development of habit over time (Merleau-Ponty,
1962). Alternatively, without a specific lifting area available, I was required
to forge space on the gym floor in order to complete my workout, in doing
so disrupting material and socio-cultural divisions and unique rules within
the gym habitus (Bourdieu, 1977). By performing technical exercises that
were uncommon in these settings, I accrued a sense of masculine physical
capital through proving myself as an experienced weight trainer, legitimising
my inclusion in the male hierarchy.
These observations contribute to previous research on fitness cultures
which has demonstrated how gym spaces are drawn through lines based on
idealised gendered body work undertaken (e.g. Johnston, 1996; Sassatelli,
1999a; b; Craig & Liberti, 2007). Dworkin (2003: 132) for example identifies
that the proportion of men to women in the ‘weight room’ is approximately
80/20 or 90/10. Distinctions of male dominance in these areas can further be
made through tuning in to the sensory landscape, as Amy experiences in a
spit and sawdust gym:
Whilst not impossible, female gym members are required to negotiate
their presence in far more complex ways in gaining access to free weight
areas and in general, remain as ‘intruders’ (Bolin & Granskog, 2003).
You can sense that this is a male space. Many of the men are training in
their work boots, high visibility jackets and torn tracksuit bottoms
covered with paint or dust, having come straight to the gym from a day
of manual work. The odours perspiring from their bodies are a mixture
of festering stale sweat, earthy concrete, and sweet smelling pine
residue. Their musty smell gets stuck in my throat; I can taste it on my
86 James Brighton et al.
tongue. In addition to this olfactory terrain, the aural landscape is
dominated by ‘banter’ which is also straight off the building site. This
isn’t like an MLC; you don’t have to cover up, and you don’t have to
make an effort to smell nice or conceal grunts of effort. For many, this
is exactly what distinguishes it as an authentic gym; it’s not sanitised,
just real bodies working hard.
(Amy – Reflection from a free weights area)
Gendered membership of free weights areas conveys the message that these
spatial territories are reserved for men and processes of masculinisation.
Boundaries are governed by strict gendered binary divisions, experienced
through all of our senses, with female gym members’ participation restricted
by the presence and behaviour of male gym members. Alternatively, research
has also demonstrated how female gym users who possess adequate strength,
lifting knowledge and muscularity are able to transgress free weight spaces –
gaining respect and a sense of empowerment. (Bunsell, 2013). As discussed by
two female gym members interviewed by Amy, however, even if female gym
users are admired in participating in hardcore masculine dominated free
weight spaces, they are still subjected to, and required to negotiate the
oppressive ‘voyeuristic gaze’ (Mulvey, 1975) of male gym members:
Being a girl lifting heavier weights, men don’t tend to, they just stay
away, but they do tend to stare. There is definitely stares, and you do,
like, feel them. The guys I’ve known since being in here will like come
over and say “Well done” and you’ll just get the other guys that just
kind of look and stare, which if I was a bit younger it would have
bothered me but not anymore.
(Charlie)
You notice times when they [male gym members] are looking at your
arse or something, so I just stare back, it’s that sort of look (pfft, raises
eyebrow) which says “Yeah, come on then”. They normally back off …
It’s knowing the person but when it’s a stranger you definitely have to
be very assertive so they know where they stand.
(Alex)
As experienced gym users with strong, able bodies Charlie and Alex were
able to gain membership to the free weight area and draw admiration from
male members they had previously developed a sense of rapport with.
However, they remained subject to gazes that served to sexualise and
trivialise their achievement and repress their involvement within these
spaces. The examples offered by James and Amy above highlight that
although gym spaces are arranged along gender lines, they are also
influenced by knowledge on fitness, ability, class and physical strength all
of which are conveyed through display and performance of the body.
Gym spaces 87
It is interesting, then, that in response to recent stratifying fitness trends
such as powerlifting, Olympic lifting and CrossFit (see below), lifting platforms and ‘rigs’ (apparatus to hang the body off and complete pull-ups and
other gymnastic movements on), are being added to existing floor spaces as
gym chains seek to ‘cover all the bases’ in attracting members. Whilst the
segregation of these specialist spaces might appear progressive, without
adequate knowledge or education on how to use equipment, such spaces
often remain empty, or worse, used unsafely, foster dangerous movement
practices. This is further exacerbated by the erosion of ‘fitness instructors’
who once imparted free advice being replaced with ‘expert personal trainers’,
who under neoliberal arrangements operate individual profit generating businesses in which clients pay for the privilege of the transmission of fitness
knowledge (Wellard, 2018). Consequently, without prior fitness knowledge,
new gym users can be left daunted by gym space and equipment, especially in
hardcore gyms that consist mostly of free weights.
Analysis of the gym floor would not be complete without considering how
these spaces are decorated, adorned and illuminated. As indicated by Amy’s
reflection in the introduction to this chapter, mirrors are meaningful in gyms.
By reflecting light, they are used to create illusions of space, making gyms
appear vaster, brighter and more open than they actually are. Primarily,
however, mirrors are important apparatus through which gym members enter
processes of self-surveillance by checking correct lifting techniques, admiring
muscular ‘gains’ and revelling in the narcissistic voyeuristic pleasures from
observing reflections of their own pumped-up bodies. As Haelyon & Levy
(2012) discuss, mirrors in fitness spaces are dictated by institutional and
corporate guidelines, with the underlying assumption that their placement will
encourage effort and increase performance by reflecting the ‘body as machine’
and provide important visual feedback that will help ‘it’ become more efficient.
Mirrors are particularly important as part of the ‘process’ of bodybuilding
in establishing optimum size, proportion, symmetry and vascularity of
musculature and the fluidity of posing routines (Richardson, 2012). Likening
a good bodybuilder to a good sculptor in the film Pumping Iron (1977), Arnold
Schwarzenegger indicates the key role of mirrors in the gym in establishing
progress: “You look in the mirror and you say, okay, I need a bit more
deltoids, so that the proportion’s right, and you exercise and put those
deltoids on, whereas an artist would just slap on some clay on each side”. Like
bodybuilders, gym members use mirrors to develop ‘pictorial competence’
(Bourdieu, 1991) by making particular choices on what types of body are
meaningful within the ‘habitus’ of particular gyms (Monaghan, 2001). In
providing visual evidence of the progression made towards one’s self-reflexive
body project, the reflection seen in the mirror is emotive, influencing body–
self relationships over time and influencing self-esteem, motivation and
adherence to training.
As Haelyon & Levy (2012) illuminate, however, mirrors are not just
glass fragments that reflect objective reality but produce reflections that
88 James Brighton et al.
distinguish how the gaze shapes the body and the subject in the gym. They
demonstrate how female gym users present and re-present their bodies
under the gaze of the self and become aware of the surveillance of the other
over private mirror gazing. Consciousness of ‘gazing on the gaze’ serves to
regulate behaviour and distinguish bodies as perfect or imperfect through
stigmatising the very act of gazing which is deemed as ‘physical narcissism’,
or as one of their interviewees described it, “a forbidden affair between me
and the mirror” (p. 1204). Given the above importance placed on selfreflection in gyms, it is unsurprising then that within some chains, mirror
arrangements and conditions are manipulated to make the body look
favourable, which depending on the area of the gym, involves making
bodies look bigger (free weights area) or smaller (cardiovascular areas).
Assisted with downlighting creating shadows over ripples of muscle, these
illusions have an important influence in how individuals experience the
gym floor and develop relationships with their bodies and training.
Finally, the décor in gyms conveys particular discourses influencing our
experience. In MLCs and globogyms, decoration is mainly drab, dull,
consistent and corporate. Glass encased posters are hung on walls, usually
offering personal training or promoting other profit generating services.
Most of the images are of young, able-bodied, mainly white, subtly
muscled, ideally gendered bodies covered in sheens of sweat, coyly smiling
whilst they exercise moderately, covered in branded clothing. There is little
in terms of knowledge or education, other than instructions on how to use
machines or notices demanding users put their weights away. You could
enter one of the gyms in the chain across the country and aesthetically, at
least, it would feel very similar. Alternatively, in privately owned gyms,
there was a lot more freedom, creativity and individuality in decoration as
demonstrated in the observation by James below:
This was a hardcore gym and a shrine to the golden ages of bodybuilding.
Walls were covered with posters of the ‘mecca’ (Muscle beach in Venice,
California), past and present Mr Olympias and superheroes. The stars
and stripes hung from the ceilings. A celebratory homage to the roots of
bodybuilding, here you can work on your body in the pursuit of hope,
liberation and economic success and join the American dream. Whilst I
am in here, I too enjoy buying into this sense of hope.
In particular, murals of hyper-muscled, hyper-virile superheroes such as
Superman, Spiderman, Batman and Captain America dominated the walls of
many independent gyms (Figure 5.3). These larger than life, indestructible,
eternally young, fictional characters reflect the impregnation of bodybuilding
on Western imaginations of masculinity and strength. As Taylor (2007: 354)
discusses, superheros’ “glistening musculature, their glorious, anguished
contortions, their endless posing … are preening bodybuilders in capes and
spandex” – their presence on gym walls reinforcing the desirability of
Gym spaces 89
Figure 5.3 Working out and hanging about with superheroes.
Photograph courtesy of Fiona Cole Photography.
engendered, sexualised, fetishised bodies. In being “excessive and disruptive
to the acceptable physiological norm” (p. 357) they promise transmogrification and feed the illusion of gym bodies being able join the realms of being
‘super’ through development of a imperial sense corporeality. In working
out alongside their heroes therefore, gym members are encouraged to join
this fantasy world, harnessing strength and indestructibility of characters
emblazoned on the walls.
Having discussed the spaces within MLC and ‘spit and sawdust’ gyms,
the focus of analysis will now switch to a contemporary fitness phenomenon, CrossFit, in which spatial arrangement and knowledge on fitness and
the body that predominate is challenged. In doing so, CrossFit is positioned
as a good example of a reaction to the broader expansion of gyms and the
lack of a clear identity by offering a tangible fitness ‘identity’ for gym goers
and also a claim to returning to an ‘authentic’ version of fitness training.
CrossFit spaces
In opposition to the forms of controlled and regulated fitness promoted in
MLCs and globogyms, there has been a recent resurgence in minimalist
primordial functional training in which the body moves more freely and
organically as ‘it was intended to’. These fitness movements are undertaken
in outdoor green spaces as well as purpose built indoor facilities and include,
90 James Brighton et al.
for example, British Military Fitness (Mansfield, 2009) and bootcamps
(Gimlin & Buckingham, 2019). Perhaps the most prevalent example of these
modern primitivist forms of fitness is CrossFit and the ‘boxes’ in which it is
undertaken, which at first impression can be seen to have emerged as a
reaction to the forms of controlled and regulated fitness promoted in MLCs.
As reinforced by Edmonds (2019: 8), “Central in definition of the CrossFit
box, is in its relation to what it is not, a modern commercial (globo) gym.”
As will be discussed, CrossFit has emerged most successfully amongst activities in the second boom of fitness because it is highly organised and offers a
tangible form of fitness training with a recognisable identity.
Established in 2000 by Greg and Lauren Glassman1 in Santa Cruz,
California, CrossFit is an interdisciplinary approach to fitness combining
elements of multiple sports including Olympic weightlifting, gymnastics and
athletics. In creating CrossFit, Glassman (2002), a former gymnast and
personal trainer, sought to re-address ‘fitness’ and provide logical ways of
measuring it. He found that ‘fitness’ was a contested and multifaceted term,
often constructed through established and essentialist understandings of
who was deemed ‘fit’ for a given sport or activity in alternative spaces as a
result of social and cultural constructions over time. Central to these
observations were how modern MLCs and globogyms did not produce ‘fit’
people. Rather, gym users were being restricted in reaching their fitness
potential through the forms of equipment available, spatial organisation and
the docility of movement routines and programmes that were engrained
within them. As ascertained by Herz (2015) in her commentary of CrossFit,
gym goers had become accustomed to low intensity exercise and diluted
movement patterns completed on fixed resistance machines, becoming
docile to dominant fitness discourses:
… the way we allow health club machines to stabilise and limit our
range of movement, to literally keep us on track, leaves us less
purposeful. The abandonment of complex movement and physical
intensity has rendered us, in some fundamental way, less intelligent.
We have been kinaesthetically brainwashed by the machines that are
supposed to make us fit.
(p. 33)
Glassman sought to challenge these institutions and the fitness practices
undertaken within them by developing exercise intensity and movement
patterns that represented a return to ‘primordial’ methods such as lifting of
free weights, moving body weight in alternative ways and completing
maximal all-out efforts to physical failure. Within the mediated surroundings of MLCs, Glassman’s new methods were met with hostility.
Weights clanged to the floor, grunts cut through the air, and movements
transgressed structured gym spaces (Murphy, 2012). The intensity at which
Glassman’s clients worked appeared to pollute the civilised setting, acting as
Gym spaces 91
an intercorporeal signifier to other gym goers of their unwillingness to move
beyond the comfort of their own practices. He therefore opened his first
CrossFit specialist space in Santa Cruz, California in 1995, which he termed
a ‘box’. In comparison to the well-equipped MLC, the box was a minimalist, boundary-less, largely empty fitness space. It was here that Glassman
honed his methods and aimed to legitimise an all-encompassing definition
of fitness that was informed through bio-scientific principles, a ‘truer’ test
of fitness based on certain physical skills and physiological determinants
(see Chapter 7 for discussion).
Glassman figured that a more efficient way of experiencing his new fitness
methodology was for two or more clients to join together to form a group
training session. Clients would pay less and he could charge a higher hourly
rate. Experiencing success, in 2002 Glassman began to preach his ‘new’
version of fitness and health, providing the knowledge to others who were
then able to open up their own boxes under an ‘affiliate’ system. This
decentralised approach allowed box owners to pay an annual fee for the
CrossFit brand2 rather than profit sharing as would be the case in a
franchise. With no central coordination or top down management (Herz,
2015), freedom was afforded to owners to interpret CrossFit’s values as they
wished, resulting in boxes varying in personality, equipment, quality of
coaching, class size and emphasis (Murphy, 2012). Believing that the free
market provides adequate quality control, under this neoliberal position
emphasis centred on the risk and hard work of owners and coaches to
provide internal quality and brand integrity. Glassman reasoned that boxes
that have lazy owners, poor coaching and fail to follow the CrossFit ethos
will inevitably lose members and close.
Today, in order to gain affiliation, owners must gain a Level One CrossFit
Coaching Qualification which covers the essentials of CrossFit over the
duration of a single weekend at a price of US$1000. Once this certificate is
issued, all that is required is liability insurance, an affiliate website and
payment of the annual fee.3 Since 2002, there has been a meteoric rise in
CrossFit box ownership. By the end of 2005, 13 affiliates had opened. In
2012 there were over 4000, and in 2018 there are almost 13,500 affiliates
(https://map.crossfit.com). Due to this stratospheric and unparalleled growth
in the fitness sector in the last decade, CrossFit can make a legitimate claim
to be the “biggest global fitness movement in the 21st Century” (Dawson,
2017: 361).
CrossFit is commonly completed in a mixed sex class setting supervised
by a coach, or coaches depending on the size of the class (1:10 coach-athlete
or less recommended). Individuals can also undertake CrossFit independently of a box by completing the prescribed workout of the day
(WOD) placed on CrossFit.com4 in home gyms or remote fitness spaces.
WODs vary in length of time (1–60 minutes) and are usually completed
against the clock and incorporate a staggering range of movements including
body weight exercises (e.g. push-ups, sits-ups, burpees), lifts (e.g. deadlift,
92 James Brighton et al.
squat, push press, shoulder press, chest press), Olympic lifts (clean, jerk,
snatch) and gymnastics (e.g. toes to bar, handstand press-ups, muscle-ups).
These movements are often interspersed with cardiovascular stimulus from
running, rowing or skiing on an ergometer, to cycling on an aerodyne bike
so that they are performed under intense cardiovascular duress.
Boxes reflect these needs and are characterised by open spaces with large
metal pull up rigs attached to the floor, gymnastic rings and climbing ropes
hanging from the roof, wooden boxes (often splattered in blood) lining the
walls and Olympic lifting bars, kettlebells, dumbbells, bumper plates,
medicine balls and skipping ropes stored in corners (Figure 5.4, Figure 5.5).
Mirroring the “spartan beginnings” of Glassman’s first garage box
(Washington & Economides, 2016: 144), in many ways CrossFit boxes are
therefore reincarnations of the original Turnplatz. Some early boxes even
opened in empty shipping containers, represented by the original packaging
of the legendary Reebok Nano CrossFit trainer. Partly due to the size, low
rents and noise ‘pollution’ (loud music, dropping weights and corporeal
emissions), historically boxes have tended to materialise in repurposed
industrial and commercial premises on the outskirts of cities and towns.
As Edmonds (2019: 5) recognises in his analysis of the spatial location of
CrossFit, each box is therefore “uniquely designed and adapted to the space
within which it is housed” and is characterised by a rejection of certain
Figure 5.4 Typical CrossFit Spaces (CrossFit P10, England).
Photograph courtesy of Nicole Vanner Photography.
Gym spaces 93
Figure 5.5 Typical CrossFit Spaces (CrossFit Café, Virginia Beach, USA).
forms of technology as they do not conform to the minimalist aesthetic of
the nostalgic garage gym. As Edmonds (2019: 6) further highlights, mirrors
do not adorn box walls as they do in MLCs and globogyms, shifting focus
from “the aesthetic self-gaze” and re-directing it onto the coach who helps
develop kinaesthetic awareness and being present in the movement and
94 James Brighton et al.
moment. Importantly, members are encouraged to develop an ownership of
both the space, for example by taking out equipment, cleaning it and
returning it, and caring for members’ fitness as part of a ‘community’.
Embodied experiences of ‘doing’ CrossFit are explored in detail by James in
Chapter 7; here, however, we hope to have presented an oppositional
emerging fitness space to more established spit and sawdust, MLCs and
globogyms.
Summary
In this chapter, MLCs and spit and sawdust gyms were identified as
predominant gym spaces. Within them, boundaries existed in material senses
(e.g. through equipment and layout) but were also constructed as ‘reverential
spaces’ constructed through and policed by socio-cultural norms of gender,
class, age, race and able-bodiedness serving to separate and distinguish bodies.
Accordingly, gyms structured and regulated fitness practices and enabled and
constrained gym users in a number of ways. Although resistance and
transgression of these divisive spaces are possible, individuals require adequate
fitness knowledge and to display and perform the body in appropriate ways.
Offering a challenge to traditionally organised gym space, CrossFit was
introduced as an expanding fitness phenomenon with potential to transgress
engrained spatial arrangements and (re)imagine contemporary notions of
fitness and the body.
In providing this spatial analysis, gyms are positioned as heterogeneous
and evolving with unique social and cultural dynamics consisting of a
complex mixture of public and private, material and imagined, intimate
and exposed, inclusive and exclusive spaces uniquely structuring
embodied experience. Whilst we recognise that gym experience is clearly
simultaneously ordered through the temporal, and that the atmosphere,
crowd and fitness practices undertaken are all subject to the time at which
one enters and exits the gym, thereby distinguishing and including and
excluding bodies, such discussion is beyond the boundaries of this chapter.
Such exploration warrants further analysis, especially approaches that are
made through visual, olfactory, acoustic and kinaesthetic sensorial terrains
available to us as sentient gym bodies (Sparkes, 2010). Now that we have
conceptualised gym bodies, provided historical context, and provided analysis of contemporary gym spaces, we each offer one example of ‘doing’ a
gym-based practice, starting with Ian’s experiences of being personally
trained.
Notes
1 CrossFit was created by Greg and Lauren Glassman, but they subsequently
divorced and Greg took over the company. Further references in this chapter
relate to Greg Glassman.
2 $500 for the first boxes; currently $3000 in 2018.
Gym spaces 95
3 Unless the box is non-profit making (e.g. educational and/or military), in which
case the fee is waived.
4 A WOD has been posted on CrossFit.com every day since 10th February 2001.
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